


hanging on a moment

by zenstrike



Series: you’re lucky that’s what i like [5]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 05:17:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15700554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zenstrike/pseuds/zenstrike
Summary: Layovers, water, wine.Keith and Lance in an airport.





	hanging on a moment

**Author's Note:**

> i’ve been in airports a lot lately
> 
> takes place +2 years after got the music in you baby tell me why
> 
> there’s no plot. they love each other.

 

    “Sold out!” Lance pressed his palms to the glowing plastic of the vending machine, gasping with his whole body. “Are you kidding me! This is an airport! Vending machines don’t run out of water in an airport!”

    Keith snorted.

    Lance whirled on him, wagging a threatening finger. “You laugh now but just wait. I’m going to shrivel up like a raisin. Dehydration is a thing, Keith.”

    Keith considered this and leaned against the Failure of a Vending Machine. “I guess we should be a little worried,” he allowed. “I always figured that an airport would be a good place to hide out.”

    Lance’s left eyebrow twitched.

    “You know.” Keith shrugged. “When the zombie apocalypse starts. But—“ He rapped the vending machine with his knuckles. “—if there’s no water...”

    Lance’s right eyebrow twitched. “You’re very funny.”

    “I’m only kind of joking.”

    Lance rolled his eyes and grabbed Keith by the arm, pulling him away from the humming machine. “Come on.”

    “Bottled water is a capitalist horror project, anyways.”

    “I’m still buying a water bottle!”

    They stopped at the first concession they found, tucked across the hall from gates 25 and 26. Lance considered the flashy, glossy magazine covers for a moment, then huffed and drifted towards the cooler. Water was a dollar more expensive than at the vending machine.

    Keith thought this was all very funny. He tried to hide it, but Lance knew.

    “Yikes,” Keith said.

    Lance glanced at the stand next to the cooler.

    “I’m getting a big one,” he decided.

    Keith didn’t even try to argue him out of the one-and-a-half litre bottle he picked.

    They wandered further down the broad hall, the intercom buzzing into life around them every few minutes. They reached the end of the terminal, looked at each other, and turned back to continue back the way they had come. The whole time, Lance clutched his water bottle.

    ”Next time,” Keith said thoughtfully. “We go for shorter layovers.”

    “What are you talking about?” Lance lifted an arm from his water-bottle swaddle and gestured around them. “This is great.”

    “Maybe one less stop then.”

    Lance turned away to hide his grin and watched the crowd around security as they passed. Again.

    “We’re going to starve when we get there,” Keith continued. “We have no money now that you’ve bought water that should have been free.”

    “At least we’ll be hydrated,” Lance said.

    Keith grabbed his hand before he could go back to hugging the water and pulled him aside. A chattering man sped passed them, his suitcase clattering against the gleaming tiles behind him.

    “We should get a tiny suitcase,” Lance decided. “We can look serious.”

    “Let’s just go sit down,” Keith said, twisting their fingers together.

    Warmth spread through Lance. He grinned. “We’re going to be sitting for hours! Let’s just keep walking. Pretend we’re mall walkers. Or!”

    “Oh boy,” Keith said, but he was smiling—Lance could see it!

    “We pretend we’re very serious business humans. We’ve got a conference call to make and three flights this week alone!”

    “That sounds horrible.”

    “Yes,” Lance agreed with unrestrained glee. “So everyone will have to understand when _we’re_ horrible.”

    “The future is bleak.”

    “Isn’t it just,” Lance sighed.

    They continued walking. Keith stopped to look at the same display of books twice. They considered every restaurant menu they came across. When they came back around to their gate, near the disappointing vending machine, barely an hour had past.

    “Time doesn’t exist in airports,” Lance decided.

    “What?”

    “They’re unknown, chaotic, black holes in the world.”

    “I mean, sure.”

    Lance shifted his hold on his water bottle.

    Keith dropped onto a cushy bench, stretching out his legs and squinting at the departure board above them. His glasses slid down his nose and Lance sat down next to him just in time to watch Keith shove them straight.

    Lance grinned. His favourite: glasses-Keith, in all his grump-ish glory.

    “What?” Keith grumbled, eyeing him.

    “I like your glasses.”

    Keith blinked. He smiled. “I know.”

    They leaned back together and studied their feet: Keith’s favourite sneakers with the worn out laces; Lance’s blue slip-ons, still vibrant and moulded _just right_ to his feet. He knocked his left foot against Keith’s right. Keith leaned their shoulders together.

    Maybe if Lance really thought about it he’d remember that they had some shared anxieties about travelling together, about sitting close or holding hands or—and there it was—spending this extended quality time together like it was natural, like it was simple. Like ‘next time’ was just around the corner.

    “I think there’s a scratch on one of my lenses,” Keith observed.

    Lance snorted.

    They sat like that for a little while longer and Lance’s mind was pleasantly blank. The seconds crawled by.

    Lance took a sip from the water bottle and Keith laughed and yeah, maybe it was too big.

    “So we land in L.A.,” Keith said while Lance screwed the plastic lid back on. “And sit there for four hours.”

    “Yup.”

    “And _then_ we get on a plane for another, what, ten hours?”

    “Yup.” Lance licked his lips.

    “I think I’m going to die.”

    “Maybe,” Lance said. “More likely, you’ll get annoyed and start eating everything in sight.”

    Keith twisted in his seat, looking around behind them at—nothing.

    “What do you think a ‘wine lounge’ is?”

    Lance drummed his fingers against the water bottle. “A place for cheese and gossip.”

    “Hunk’d love that.”

    “ _You_ ’d love that.”

    Keith settled again, just barely, still twisted to face Lance.

    Lance smiled, leaning his head back. Keith looked ruffled already, with his glasses smudged and his hair flat. He had scratched his neck while writing a paper the week before and there was still an angry, long mark just above his collar bone. He looked like himself, in his t-shirt and favourite pants though Lance thought he’d regret the tight jeans situation when they actually got on a plane.

    (“Not all of us can pull off—“ Keith had gestured vaguely at Lance’s yoga pants. “ _Those_.”

    Lance had balked. “It’s an airport, Keith! Nobody looks good.”

    And Keith had looked so unimpressed Hunk had howled with laughter and fallen off the couch.)

    “Hey,” Lance said. “Give me your passport.”

    Keith laughed. “No one will believe you’re me.”

    “Like I’d want to be you.” Lance held out his hand expectantly.

    After some frowning, Keith leaned over and dug through the front pocket of his backpack. He presented his passport with a flourish, his boarding passes flapping.

    Lance dug out his own documents and set their mismatched passports together on his thighs. “One commemorative photo,” he declared, squinting at his phone.

    “Of what?” Keith leaned close. They both watched the screen of Lance’s phone as Lance snapped the picture.

    “Our passports,” Lance said, shoving Keith’s back into his hands.

    “Oh, I see,” Keith drawled and then leaned in to press a featherlight kiss to Lance’s cheek.

    Lance beamed. Keith’s smile was nearly as wide.

    “Come on,” Keith said, standing. “Let’s go see what a wine lounge is all about.”

    Lance tilted his head. “It’s about spending money, I can tell you that much.”

    Keith retorted by pointing at Lance’s water.

    Lance figured that was fair.

    They twined their fingers together as they started the slow trek back towards the wine lounge.

    “I bet there’s wine at the wine lounge,” Keith said.

    “Good,” Lance huffed. “I’ll need _something_ to get through that _conference call_.”

    “I’m going to gag,” Keith said.

 

***

 

(They sat on a couch in the wine lounge and had a great view of the baggage claim below. Lance pointed at the prices.

“Whatever,” Keith said, hunching over the menu. “Money spent in airports isn’t real.”

“I’m going to tell your brother you said that.”)

 

***

 

(When they joined the boarding queue two hours and a bottle of wine and a plate of stinky cheese later, Keith leaned into Lance for the first “real” photo of the trip. They both looked happy.

Lance dozed on Keith’s shoulder on the way to Los Angeles. Keith, in that time, finished his book.)   

   

**Author's Note:**

> i went to a wine lounge. that’s all.
> 
> i’m working on the next regular part and it’ll be done soon. i’m going to start posting these little side stories to tumblr, too.
> 
> yikes i love them


End file.
